The Uneventful Plot Filled Scrapbook of an Estranged Writer
by Kitty29
Summary: Scraps? Unwarranted fluttering muses? Oh me oh my, so many uncompleted Hetalia stories so little time. Where should I put these little plot bunnies of mine? Well, the wonderful land of fanfiction of course! Characters, genres and rating will change from chapter to chapter. For now, ratings will remain at T.
1. Introduction

**Hey guys! Kitty29 with a series of random Hetalia Snippits! Thanks so much for choosing this story to read out of all the wonderful fics out there!**

**Now for a brief intro to what this whole thing is about before we get started. Basically this is a place where I place little stories, dribbles or scenes that I have written for the Hetalia fandom. Things that I have either lost my muse for, am too invested in other stories to continue or something that I wrote one day at three in the morning and completely forget about until I read it three months later and think 'not bad.' (Its almost alarming how much that happens.) **

**So why am I posting these things? One part because I feel a little bad that they will never see the light of day and one part because I honestly would love to hear feedback on it. 'This is a dumb idea', 'maybe you want to add in this twist to make it more interesting', 'scrap this now' are all things I would love to hear about it. Anything that will make me laugh or cry is a great comment.**

**And really that's it. Thank you for reading through this and I really hope you enjoy my theoretical fanfic table scraps. See you soon!**


	2. AU America, Canada, England and France

_Are you sure you want to run this program?_

**_yes_**_/no_

...

_'Morning, Alfred!'_

It wasn't right.

_**Execute**_

_[+]Shade: Violet: 58% +0.06%_

_[+]Size: 65.864% -0.3%_

_[-]Lashes: Top: 48.56% _

_Bottom: 54.7% -2.65%_

_Save Changes _**_Apply Changes _**_Cancel_

"_Morning, Alfred!"_

It still wasn't right.

The sun was raising.

Another failed night.

_**Save Changes **__Apply Changes Cancel_

_Save Complete_

_Are you sure you want to exit?_

**_yes_**_/no_

/ / / \ \ \

"Can't believe the damn frog has me picking out which church this should take place in, like I would know anything about bleeding churches! I would rather have the thing take place at a stinking barn than have to go through another of these fucking catalogues! Though this one is rather...pretty. What do you think Alfred?"

"..."

"_OI!"_

Alfred bolted upright and threw several hurried glances around the room before they fell upon the annoyed Brit beside him. He had to pause and blink several times before he was able to pull off a sheepish grin. "Sorry Iggy. Didn't sleep too good last ni-ni-niiggghhttt." He's last word was drawled out by a necessary yawn as he rubbed his eyes in an almost childlike fashion. Arthur sighed before he took the papers off his lap and stood up from the couch.

Arthur and Alfred had been roommates for a good six years now, but have only been friends for four. That's not to say they were enemies before but someone who witnessed the two interact in the early years would have taken notes and pitched it as a sitcom on FOX. Though after an incident now only know as 'The Christmas Party Mishap' (which the persons involved agreed to never speak of again) the two had become fast friends. Many people thought it to be strange but hey, this was New York City. If it wasn't strange, it wasn't normal.

"Normally I'd tell you to take a nap." Arthur started as he walked into their small kitchen and opened the fridge. "But for once I actually need that lack luster brain of yours." Closing the fridge, he tossed a can of Red Bull towards the blond, who caught it with practised precision.

"I knew you would one day," Alfred responded with a smirk. Cracking open the can, he took a swing before looking down at the numerous papers spread out on the coffee table in front of him. "Don't know why you want _my_ help on this, though. I've only gone to maybe two of these places tops."

"Just humour me," Arthur breathed, sitting next to his friend once again. "You've lived in this city far longer than I have. Any help would be brilliant."

Alfred made a noise of agreement and the two fell into silence. The silence lasted about two seconds before Alfred randomly exclaimed, "I _still_ can't believe you're getting married!" He turned to his friend with a bright smile of congratulations. "And before me! Seriously, when I first met you I thought you were gonna retire to become a creepy, angry 'ld cat lady."

Arthur pushed him playfully, the twinkle in his eyes that could only be described as love making him seem much brighter than just a moment before. "Yes, well, if even a plain man like myself can find love then anything is possible."

Alfred threw his head back and laughed before he bumped Arthur's shoulder with his own. "There's the title for your next book! 'If I Can Do It, So Can You!' It'll be loved by middle aged divorcees and love-stuck tweens all over the country!"

Arthur laughed as well, but shook his head in a fierce negative. "Don't tell my publisher about that or the bastard will be up my arse until I actually write it."

"Heh, right. Isn't that how 'My Unicorn Tea Party' was made?"

Arthur groaned and hung his head in his hands to try and hide his shame. "Don't remind me. Even with that ridiculous name people still took it seriously."

Alfred took another swing of his energy drink before he dragged his friend deeper into his shame pool. "Didn't the New York Times call it one of the best books of the year or something?"

Again Arthur groaned, shaking his head as if trying to get the memory out of his skull. "That book tour was bloody torture. All I wanted to do was scream 'you're all bleeding wankers for liking this shit covered rubbish! The jam between my toes is more fucking interesting!'"

Alfred, in the middle of taking another sip of his drink, nearly spit it out but slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself. "Dude! You would have been my fucking _hero _if you did that!" After a moment of thought he added, "After me."

"How could you be your own hero, hm?" Arthur asked, recovered enough to look up at the coffee table. He pulled a random catalogue closer to him and flipped it open. "Isn't a hero supposed to be self-sacrificing at any time?"

Alfred shrugged. "I can't save other people if I'm dead."

Arthur wouldn't have responded even if not for the sudden announcement of a certain presence but it didn't make it any less abrupt.

"Bonjour! Papa suis à la maison!" Not a minute passed after the Frenchman had taken off his coat and set down his briefcase was he found sitting on Arthur's lap, showering his fiancé in kisses.

"Ah, Francis!" Kiss. "Will y—" Smooch. "You stop for—" Peck. "_Francis!_"

Francis stopped, but only so he could pull back and admire the red flush on his beautiful soon-to-be-husband's face. "Oh Arthur! I missed you so much today I can't even think of a French word to describe it! To think that we will soon be wed! _Ah! _I love you, I love you, je t'aime, _je t'aime_!" He threw his arms around Arthur's neck and began rubbing his face against his shoulder, still repeating those lines with the excitement of a teenage girl. Arthur rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Experience had taught him to not say things like 'Francis get off me!' or 'You're heavy!' but those were always the first things that popped into his head. Instead he tried to nudge the blond off him, though he knew it wouldn't work.

Francis suddenly pulled back and gasped like he was just struck with the greatest thought in the world. "Let's run away! Let's run away and get married _right now!_"

"What about the church, Francis?" Arthur replied easily. It was clear this wasn't the first time these two have had this conversion.

"I do not care!" Francis said for the who knows how many times now. Though Arthur knew he _did_ care, the Frenchman still managed to sound genuine each time. "As long as I can hold you in my arms I do not need an extravagant wedding!"

All Arthur could think of was Francis crying melodramatically and asking why he didn't stop him from cancelling their 'magnifiques' wedding a month later. Thinking that made him release another sigh though anyone who knew him knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Seriously guys, you _have_ a room!" Alfred finally said. Deciding it was time for food, he got up and went to the kitchen. "And I don't have to be in it!"

The couple looked up at the American at that, both of them looking like they had completely forgotten he was there (which was exactly the case).

"Oh Alfred! Please do not be jealous of our amore!" Francis said like he fully believed that was the only reason Alfred didn't want to see them having sex. "In four months we will be gone and you can spread your amore to Cindy!"

"Michelle." Alfred corrected, opening random cabinets to find something to eat. "And we broke up last week." He happily found a half eaten bag of chips and grabbed it. "But it was more of a sex thing. Where are you guys going again?"

Francis, who was fully prepared to dive into Alfred's breakup, lit up with the chance to further speak of his engagement. Finally getting off Arthur, he shuffled to the end of the couch so he could be closer to Alfred. "Arthur and I will be going to Jamaica for our honeymoon! I still do not know why we are not going to my homeland of Paris. It's certainly more beautiful than any Caribbean island can even _hope_ to achieve."

"You're the only Frenchman I can tolerate." Arthur said with a blush. Believe it or not, that was one of the biggest compliments you would get from him.

Francis didn't seem to appreciate it at this time. "They are much nicer if you know the language."

"I don't want to learn the language."

"You didn't seem to protest as much when _Mathieu_ was teaching you!"

Instantly the easy atmosphere was gone.

Arthur's eyes widened and Francis slapped a hand over his mouth but the damage had been done. They turned towards Alfred who had his back to them, staring down at something they couldn't see. That was the scene for several long eerie moments, even the outside not daring to make any sudden sounds. Finally, Alfred turned around, a smile on his face.

"Really! You guys can mention him without worrying about me! I'm fine!" He released a small laugh but he knew it was just as fake as his smile. He trailed off and looked elsewhere, not needing to look at the two to know they didn't buy it. He sighed as he stared into nothing, allowing his memories to engulf him as he spoke. "...Mattie would have loved to see your wedding."

There was another moment of silence before Francis spoke, his tone gentle. "If it wasn't for Mathieu, there wouldn't be a wedding."

Alfred looked up, the slightest of upturns on his lips. "Yeah...So don't fuck it up."

That earned a small chuckle from the pair and the room lapsed into a seldom silence once more. Then, Alfred began to move, the bag of chips forgotten. "I better get back to work, gotta get this shit done by tomorrow."

Arthur stood and made a few feeble steps towards his friend. "Wait, Alfred, I—"

But the door had already been closed.

Arthur stood helplessly behind it, his fist clutched as he stared. There was one more short silence before Arthur spoke. "I think we should postpone the wedding."

Francis also stood. "Arthur, non, please, not again."

"Did you not just see that?" Arthur asked, looking back on his fiancé simply to glower at him. "Just at the mention of his name he becomes so lifeless! He can't even talk about him! He can barely _think_ about him! I have to be here for him Francis! I...I can't leave him! Not aga—"

He was interrupted with a sudden hug, Francis gently shushing him as he stroked his hair. "Arthur...It has been three years and I still I miss him every day." He paused to let out a small breath to compose himself. "But we need to move on with our lives. If not for us than for him. For Mathieu."

Arthur released a shaky breath before his eyes darted back to the closed door. "But...Alfred..."

"Alfred has to move on too." Francis' words may have seemed harsh but they were right. "Arthur...Your heart is in the right place but...You cannot expect to be here to hold his hand for the rest of your life. Please Arthur. _Please_ amore...we have to start living again."

It was in that moment that a recorded voice of one they would never hear from again walfed from Alfred's bedroom.

"Oh god." Was the last thing Arthur could choke out before he buried his head into Francis' chest, clutching onto his clothing like a lifeline. Francis just held him, reminding himself that for once, it was he that had to be strong as he was forced to listen to the sweet voice he would never hear again.

/ / / \ \ \

"_Why the heck are you filming me making pancakes of all things?"_

"_So I can sell your secret recipe for a shit load of money; obviously."_

"_I keep telling you it's not that hard Alfred. Flour, baking soda, sugar, an egg, some vanilla extin—"_

"_Fft, like I'll remember that."_

"_Dumb ass."_

"_Canadian."_

"_How is that even an insult?"_

Alfred watched the recording stoically, any emotion it had previously elicited already done to the point of numbness. Ripping his eyes away from the small television set, he knelled down on the ground and pulled back a loose floorboard, grabbing the Jack Daniels hidden inside. He unscrewed the top and took a swing, only now realizing there was barely a shots worth inside. He groaned angrily before he threw the bottle away, suddenly hating everything and nothing for no reason. He found his eyes wondering over to the Swiss Army knife he kept. Arthur wouldn't notice if he did it on the inside of his thighs...

He immediately shook his head of that thought. He had even promised himself he wouldn't do that anymore. He might be pitiful but he wasn't going to snoop down to that state. Not again.

Alfred's eyes finally wondered over to his computer. So you couldn't bring someone back from the dead, huh? Well, wasn't that the honest to God, kick to the balls truth. Still, it didn't man he couldn't try the next best thing, right?

He continued to watch the recording as he booted his computer up once more. Matthew was desperately trying to teach him the recipe that he was trying to 'steal' but he continuously interrupted him, much to Matthew's increasing chagrin. He almost wished it was last year. Last year he would have laughed at this, cried at this. He would have done something. Now he just felt empty. He focused on the computer once more.

_Are you sure you want to run this program?_

**_yes_**_/no_

...

"_Morning, Alfred!"_

It wasn't right but it was close. Two years, nine months and ten days was a long time for brothers to be apart. The only thing he could ask of Matthew was to be little more patient. Yes...Just a little longer...

They would be reunited soon.

* * *

**Yeah so this was an idea for an AU story where Alfred never got over his brother, Mathew's death and so made an AI Matthew that ended up being so like him that he grew to hate it. It was suppose to be a hurt/healing fic with fake Matthew trying to get Alfred to get over the real Matthew and continue on with his life and blah blah blah. I thought it was a interesting idea but my muse wasn't strong enough to want to add this story to my still expanding list of multi chapters I've already got going on.** **Oh well, maybe one day when I finished one of my other stories I'll pick this one up but I dunno.**


	3. FrUk Fluff

Like a brave mouse trapped by a joyful cat. Like a man facing impossible odds on a battlefield. Like a new thief committing their first crime.

There were a dozen ways he could word it but the picture painted was the same. There England sat; expression of forced determination and body tense as he stared at the computer screen in front of him as if hoping it would just burst into flames and die.

France should have been offended but he was too amused. "It's finished." He supplied.

England jumped at his words though it was more of a jerk. France wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't half leaning against his side. He was glad England didn't turn to look at him for he couldn't help but smile.

"…Quite. Well…yes." England confirmed lamely. He cleared his throat and attempted to straighten himself more than he already was, looking down his nose at the screen. 'Stiff upper lip' as he would describe it. "It was far…shorter than I thought it would be."

France's smile morphed into a more perverted grin. "If you would like to paint a much more _private_ picture than by all means~"

England snapped his head around to glare at him, his cheeks lit up in incredulous anger. "_Don't you dare! _Reach for that keyboard and I'll—" He stopped when he noted he was taking the light joke far too seriously and turned to face ahead though refused to look at the computer. "I…I can't believe they're making us go though this rubbish! Most, if not all of us are well in our hundreds and they're treating us like children! Who was mental enough to come up with this thing in the first place?"

Gods, everything he said just made France smile when he should have been joining him in his justified anger. "I believe that was you, non?"

England's cheeks lit up in a physical show of embarrassment and he turned his attention away from France. "…Yes I…I did mention for it but I didn't expect—!" He waved his hand at the computer screen, words failing to describe. "_This!_"

France's smile slipped, and at that he was grateful. He was as disapproving as England when it came to this, if not more so. If he had had his way they wouldn't even have to look upon this extremely silly thing.

Moreover, England sighed as he recalled the incident that had sparked this loathsome thing. It was a few years back, three, four years at most, at a regularly scheduled world meeting. Somewhere in the midst of their usual business the room had become a personalized relationship battleground for Estonia and Seychelles, of all the unlikely couples.

"It's all bollocks." He recalled commenting after the meeting had been adorned and he and a few others had gone off to a local pub. "Those two couldn't solve their own bleeding problems and we have another day of meetings because of it!"

"Don't be like that! It spices shit up!" He couldn't recall which nation had said that. America? Greece? It didn't practically matter.

"It makes us look like impulsive teenagers! Who's going to trust nations who can't pull themselves together during a world fucking meeting?"

"What would _you_ suggest we do about it?" It was Germany who had asked that of him which, in hindsight, was rather odd. Germany wasn't usually such the talkative drinker, especially not after such as tedious day as that day had been. Then again, Estonia and Seychelles hadn't been the first couple who decided to bring up their personal problems in the middle of discussions. England supposed he wasn't the only one who had begun to grow tired of the trend.

England's answer to the question had been immediate, the drinks in his system loosening his lips quite a bit. "If we had known that such a moronic relationship existed before the fact we could have stopped them from acting like such complete tossers!"

Uproar of denials or agreements surged throughout the nations he was drinking with. At the time his buzzed mind had thought the idea was golden and so he argued for it as passionately as he would if he was arguing that tea was better than coffee.

Of course, approximately a year and a half later, when _this _document had been revealed, he didn't think it was as good of an idea as he had originally perceived.

Sighing once more England lifted his eyes to the online document. _Resignation of Informed Companionship, _its name was just as ridiculous as its fill in who you are and who your partner is, what level of relationship it is, how long it's been going on, if they're having any problems worth noting and if it affected their professional nation life in any way. Then they send it off to Germany and some odd hours later Prussia would somehow get his hands on it and some odd hours after that every other nation would know.

So really, this document made them report their relationship to literally the entire world.

So now here they were, England and France, people half the world thought _loathed_ each other, about to admit that they had been serious for the past five years.

"We don't have to send it out." France reasoned.

"Yes I know but…" They had been ignoring this documentation for the last two or three odd years now and England knew that sooner or later they would have to get it done. It didn't make it any less hard to do though. He was not what many would call…public with his affections. "Why are _you_ so upset about this? I thought you would find this whole thing romantic."

To that France snorted. "Filling out a _document _will never be romantic. When couples get engaged they do not talk excited about filling out papers for the marriage license. No, it is the wedding that makes their hearts shine." He found England's hand and curled his long fingers around it. "It is the same with you, lapin. I would rather inform everyone of the good news myself rather than let some…papers do so." He smiled then but England looked away from it, slightly ashamed.

"Yes I know but…" He trailed off, staring hard at the screen and France understood. England was not the type to forgo personal documentation, especially when it was related to his nation status. France sighed through his nose and closed his eyes. He didn't approve but he had to respect his lover's decision.

"If it will satisfy you I have nothing more to say."

"It won't satisfy me." England felt the need to clear up. "But I suppose I made this bed so now I must lay in it." He went back to staring at the screen as if mentally wishing for it to implode.

France chuckled. "Like a mouse facing the joyful cat."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing…"

England raised an eyebrow but figured there were more important things that needed his attention and let him be. Straightening himself up even more ('Stiff_er_ upper lip' France mused fruitlessly) England placed his finger on the touch pad and dutifully led the cursor over to the send option. The documentation, subject line, and who they were sending it to was all filled and ready; all he had to do was click the button. Just click the button...and await scrutiny.

"Last chance to see how silly this all is~" France sang, which really didn't help at all. Annoyed, England lightly elbowed the man in the stomach. Okay, so maybe there was _some_ weight to it.

"Quit complaining already! If you really loved me you would send the bloody thing for—" France reached around him and clicked 'send'. "—me."

England blinked as the screen changed to happily alert him that his message had been successfully sent to Germany. He continued to stare, unsure of what he should be feeling. The first thought that popped into his head was 'at least I didn't send it to America by mistake.'

"You know I can _never_ ignore displays of affection." France quickly added when the expected cry of outrage never came. "Especially since 'j'aime' does not work on your emotionally suppressed British mind."

This got a reaction though not one he was exactly expecting. After carefully placing the laptop from his lap to the floor England, with a simple twist of his body, placed both knees to each side of France's form and gently pushed at his shoulders; half to keep himself steady and half to trap France to the loveseat they were currently occupying. "How _dare_ you go around mocking the Great British Empire." Though his words were indignant his tone and smirk were quite playful. "Far too out of line, you are. Some proper British punishment better keep you in place."

"Erh, you are not going to make me drink tea, are you?" France asked, wrinkling his nose in exaggerated disgust. Though obviously not that tea lover that his partner was, he honestly didn't mind a nice cuppa every once in a while.

England hung his head and chuckled, swishing his head from side to side in a negative. "No…no I won't you prick…" There was a short pause before England thumped his head against France's chest with a small sigh and settled himself onto his lap. "…Thank you…or rather, I apologize."

"'Apologize…?'" France repeated confused, his hands almost automatically fitting themselves around England's body. He had known the other long enough to understand the gratitude but the apology was completely lost on him.

Thankfully, England was in a mood to elaborate. "I've been a proper fool through this whole ideal. Not saying you weren't your usual irritating self but if you were a woman…" For some reason, he could feel France tense under him and he made a mental note to never compare him to a woman again. "Than the fact that I made such a big deal out of others knowing about our…relationship would not be very gentlemenly."

Despite himself, France couldn't help but laugh. "Arthur…Arthur, Arthur, Arthur…"

England tensed slightly at the sudden usage of his human name and buried his face further into France's chest to hide his embarrassment. "S-sod off! How dare you get off mocking the Great British Empire!"

France just laughed harder, his hands slowly crawling to England's waist. "Hon oh! But I'm not mocking the Great British Empire. I am mocking my beautiful British lover who just happens to have been around for hundreds of years and _still_ doesn't understand amore." Hands in position, he grabbed the sides of England's waist and forced him down on the empty seat beside them. Then, before he could react to the assault, France climbed on top of him and pushed a finger against his lips. "We _both_ agreed to be private lovers and we _both_ recently decided to inform others of our relationship. So let me speak in plain English: I do not know if you forgot that being in a relationship involves _two _people but I really do need you to remember that I will always support you, so stop feeling you must do everything! I love you Arthur. Let me help you."

He removed his finger than, mentally preparing himself for the worse though could only smile at England's near dumbfounded face. It took him a few moments before he reacted, not that France minded very much, especially considering that England's reaction was to lean forward and kiss him.

"Pansy." England commented with a smile when they parted.

"Roserif." France replied with a smile as well.

"Fool."

"Hypocrite."

England wove his arms around his neck and kissed him in retort, efficiently ending the argument and this one time France let it go.

"How long before we expect calls to come in?" England asked when he was no longer muffled by another pair of lips.

"Knowing my dear Gilbert..." France allowed himself a moments pause. "About fifteen minutes."

"Mmm...Ready for a quick shag then?"

"Hon hon, if you insist."

* * *

**After that last somewhat angsty thing I thought I would post up this near unbearably fluff fluff fluff.**

**I had actually planned on making a story where it was going to be all FrUk fluff but then I remembered that writing overbearing amounts of fluff makes me antsy so that idea was dropped. Nevertheless I still love this pairing and so I finished up this little thing, even though I knew I wouldn't have the time nor the muse to write others. Just thought I would share!**

**Thank you** I-am-the-Wolf **and** monkeysandfudge** for the reviews!**

**Just saying now, most of the drabbles in this thing will probably be around the FACE family + PruCan. I'm finding a lot of that as I look through my documents xD**


	4. Canada and Prussia, Cold

The windows were shut, the curtains drawn, more articles of clothing were pulled on his body; he even went and received the thickest, heaviest comforter he owned.

Yet he was still cold.

Canada tugged his numerous covers even tighter around his form. This was ridiculous. Yes, the night was a little on the cooler side (negative eighteen degrees Celsius) but he was the Great White North! He's slept through much harsher elements with far less blankets! What was wrong with him? Despite himself, his eyes fluttered open, only bringing to mind how large and empty his bed seemed without the other there to occupy it. He rolled to his side to avoid the sight, forcing his eyes shut once again. He began silently counting, hoping that would be enough to finally find the sweet embrace of slumber.

One, two…

Stupid Prussian, why did he always have to be so _difficult?_

Three, four…

He had brought it up as a minor issue, one that _civilized _people would be able to work through with no problem.

Five, six…

It was like he had sat down and carefully formulated each response with the intent of getting under his skin.

Seven, eight…

He was literally hundreds of years older than him and his sibling was Germany for Christ's sake. Couldn't he be serious for five minutes?

Nine, ten…

He hoped it was colder on the couch than it was up here.

Eleven, twelve—this wasn't working.

He roughly threw the covers off himself, shivering violently against the sudden cold before he steeled himself. Perhaps if he walked around he would tire himself out. Careful to avoid looking at the shining numbers that indicated the time (what was the point? He already knows he's been up for hours) he put on his specs and clambered out of bed, making a beeline for a rocking chair in the corner of the room. He grabbed the vibrant red robe that rested there and quickly pulled it on with shaking hands—damn cold. The robe was cozy and warm but it did nothing to ease the chill he could feel nestled within his very bones. Putting on more layers wasn't enough; he needed something to warm him from the inside out.

Pausing only to step into his slippers, he exited the bedroom and made his way downstairs. As he dropped down the last step and turned into the hallway that led to the kitchen he couldn't help his eyes from wondering over to the couch he was sure the Prussian was sleeping on. From his position he couldn't actually see the white haired man but he quickly told himself it didn't matter. He snapped his head forward and clutched his jaw, immediately drawing up a list of why Prussia was a jerk and why he didn't deserve his attention.

Reaching his destination he didn't bother switching on the light as he walked to the kettle. The pale blue of the moonlight coming through the windows were enough to guide his way plus he had lived in this house for so long he could prepare an entire three course meal with a blind fold, but that wasn't his intent right now. Grabbing the electric kettle he filled it with water and placed it back on its stand, flicking it on.

He took several deep breaths as he gathered the necessary materials to make tea. For reasons he knew he could place but didn't want to he found himself irate. He tried to fight it but he found himself glancing in the direction of the couch, in the direction of _him_, the force behind his woes. He snapped his gaze downward and set his jaw, indignantly tapping his finger against his received mug in an attempt to distract himself. Why did the kettle always take so long?

* * *

**This was the beginning of a oneshot PruCan hurt/comfort/drama fic that I lost the muse for half way. Basically Prussia had done something to make Canada mad enough to make him sleep on the couch and for some reason Canada finds himself cold when he tries to go to sleep. Through a series of unimportant events he realizes the reason why he's so cold is because he had gotten used the other's body warmth, which makes him sad for personal reason. It's a bit of a shame I never got round to it, the tone was fairly decent. Oh well, maybe one day C:**

**Thanks I**-am-the-Wolf** for the review!**


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